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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28655094">Nymphaea Odorata</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armos/pseuds/Armos'>Armos</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Case Fic, Consensual Drowning, Developing Relationship, Emotional Intimacy, Hannibal POV, M/M, consensual touch conditioning, no one dies- it's for the case!, platonic? cuddling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:16:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,482</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28655094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Armos/pseuds/Armos</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He moves forward then, placing his hand lightly to Will’s nape and tugs lightly at the curls resting against his hand.  He is the only anchor that matters.<br/>“Quite tragic, to be drowned.  This reminds me of Brahms’s Ophelia-Lieder,” Hannibal says quietly, assessing the scene. “A brilliant composition of five songs based on Ophelia’s poetry, used in a stage-production in 1873.  Does this killer consider these women as Ophelias, destined to drown amongst the lilies?”<br/>“No, no,” he hears Will mutter.  “These women are no Opheliacs.  The killer doesn’t view these women as tragic.  He never manipulated them, never felt betrayed or hurt by them.  He certainly doesn’t mourn them.  He is no Hamlet."</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Hannibal Flash Fic #001, Hannibal Flash Fic Week 1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nymphaea Odorata</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Airports were mostly all the same- stale, overcrowded, and smelling strongly of human odors.  Hannibal isn’t a particular fan of them, to say the least, though he does make his fair share of flights.  The repugnant scents of human filth would only grow headier and sharper in the stale air of the plane during their five hour flight.  Hannibal chuckles to himself, imagining the haggard and unhappy faces of his companions, as an extremely unpleasant TSA agent fans their metal detector over his form.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His amusement falters as he hears the pig snort through his nose, looking as Hannibal’s choice of attire with a mixture of derisive disdain and envy.  Quietly, his eyes track the man’s pudgy form as he moves away, wheezing all the while, as recipes coming forward in his mind.  With the amount of fat on the man he’d have to plan this meal carefully- it has been awhile since he’s hosted a dinner party, after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Carefully toeing his shoes back on, Hannibal takes the time to search for their takeoff gate.  He has gotten to the airport decently early, wanting to be the first one in the area for a very simple task.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Twenty minutes later finds Hannibal greeting Will with a steaming cup of lackluster airport coffee.  He observes Will with a sense of affectionate amusement, watching the man shuffle over in his frumpled flannel and unruly hair, hands already extended for the cup of gruel currently sitting in Hannibal’s hand.  He hands it over, allowing the scent of Will to invade his space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man smells like the sharp sour tang of sweat and exhaustion with a layer of what Hannibal could only label as “dog-smell”.  Will had avoided his typical aftershave and cologne, to the appreciation of Hannibal’s sensitive olfactory senses.  They would be in-close quarters for a majority of the day, something Hannibal was looking forward to, and he did not want any part of that hindered by something as simple as an unpleasant scent lingering in his nose all day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look bright and shiny this morning,” Hannibal says, smirk lightly dancing on his lips.  “Are you prepared for the day ahead of us?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will sighs and takes off his glasses, rubbing the lenses free of caked on grime and oil.  It only smears the mess around more thoroughly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal holds out his hand, retrieving his handkerchief from his pocket, and Will hands his glasses over with a careless type of grace.  Hannibal delicately cleans the lenses with soft circular strokes, taking as long as he possible.  Without his glasses Will is forced to observe the world without his armor, eyes naked and assessing.  Hannibal is the only safe person to look at, he’s made sure of that, and he can see Will’s eyes darting to his and away again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think my glasses are clean by now.  Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reluctantly, he hands them back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They wait another fifteen minutes or so before the others arrive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack arrives first, looking worn down and tired.  He has dark purple bags under his eyes and his face seems more somber and honest in the lighting of the airport.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trailing behind him like his loyal pack of dogs are his team.  Beverly is in the front, dark sunglasses over her eyes, carrying a tray of coffees and a bag of bagels from the same airport cafe Hannibal stopped by earlier.  Zeller and Price are behind her, animatedly engaged in some form of debate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m telling you-- you </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>to come over and watch Bones with me,” he hears Price exclaiming, hands flapping in the air.  “It’s so bad it’s good.  C’mon, man.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal raises a delicate eyebrow, choosing to tune out the conversation now that he knows it’s about some inane television show.  Instead his attention is diverted to Beverly slumping down in the seat on Will’s other side.  Silently, she hands over a coffee and a bagel before setting the rest of the food down on the small side table next to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m tired and hungover.  Do not wake me up until we have to board.  Capiche?  Thanks babe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wiggles further in her seat, letting her head lull to the side with a dull thud against Will’s shoulder, and promptly falls asleep.  Will is tense next to him, unwilling to wake her back up but also unhappy at the contact.  Hannibal is relaxed and loose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He raises his hand to the back of Will’s neck and grasps lightly, much as he does when Will is far away and needs grounding in the present.  He lets his fingers brush up and tangle lightly in short curls at the base of Will’s skull and he rubs his thumb softly against the delicate skin underneath it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt Will slowly relax, back sinking against the hard seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Will says quietly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Soon it is time to wake Beverly and shuffle onto the crowded plane off to Seattle, Washington.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The plane ride itself is a boring affair.  Hannibal entertains himself with reading on his tablet or speaking softly to Will.  He took the middle seat if only to force Will against the window and away from the others, keeping him to himself.  Beverly now sat to Hannibal’s other side, legs stretched out into the aisle as she softly snores.  Not even the plane’s turbulence will wake her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She does not rest her head against Hannibal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal allows his mind to wander and wind, his tablet turned off.  Will is napping, exhaustion taking hold of him, and he’s folded tight into himself pressed against the wall.  He looks as though he’s trying to meld into the wall in his sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This view awakens a memory in Hannibal from not too long ago, maybe a month or two back.  They had been in the middle of a session after a somewhat gruesome crime scene.  Will was prickly and barbed, pacing, spitting.  Rude with fear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal had extended a suggestion, of sorts.  An exercise in trust.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Physical touch is known to be grounding.  Between two people it can be a sign of trust and comfort.  As your anchor, you must trust me to bring you back from the brink of the darkness of your mind,” Hannibal had said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?  You’re suggesting we go around holding hands and snuggling in order to “anchor” me?  You must be lonely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The snap of Hannibal’s pencil tip was loud and echoing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had taken a moment to unclench his jaw, took a silent but deep breath, before he looked up.  Will was watching him closely, quietly, and something in his gaze seemed to soften and shift.  It felt awfully close to pity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal’s lip had curled, slightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pity or not, it got Hannibal what he wanted, in the end.  Will agreed to begin touch exercises with Hannibal, unknowingly placing himself in the hands of his personal monster.  It never went beyond platonic boundaries, though Hannibal desperately wished it would at times.  Will was particularly responsive to his neck being grasped, much like he’d tug on the scruff of his own dogs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With how touch-starved Will had been it was almost no work to make him reliant on Hannibal’s touch to ground him, comfort him.  He almost alway relaxes with a light touch from Hannibal at this point, no matter how far away his mind may wander.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s knocked from his memories with the ding over the airplane’s P.A. announcing their arrival in Seattle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The plane lands and Beverly is lightly nudged awake.  Everyone does the slow shuffle off the plane.  Hannibal does his best to give Beverly room and helps take people’s luggage out of the compartments along the way.  He can feel the heat of Will’s body pressing against his back as the man struggles against invading Hannibal’s space but also refusing to allow others into his bubble.  It’s quite endearing, to be someone’s shield from the world.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once they’re off the plane it’s a matter of procuring a few rental cars.  Jack rents his own on official FBI business, snapping at the poor staff worker to quicken their pace, and leaves to start the SUV in a whirlwind of exhausted determination.  Hannibal rents his own car much more politely, caring on genial conversation, watching as the boy behind the counter relaxes with a shy smile.  He receives a free upgrade in vehicle status.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will watches the transaction with impassive eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack is hollering at them to get a move on from the parking lot as Hannibal leads Will to the sleek </span>
  <span>Mercedes Benz.  He gets in and starts the car, allowing for the top to drop back so Will can get some air during the drive to the scene.  The man looks like he needs it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he carefully follows Jack to King County he hears Will shift in his seat restlessly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that how you do it?  Just flirt with every cashier and clerk you come by?,” Will asks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not sure what you are referring to, Will.  I was merely being polite.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sure,” he hears Will sigh.  “Whatever you have to tell yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal shakes his head lightly, amused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s no need to be jealous.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not jealous.  What gave you that idea?  Just focus on the drive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time they arrive at the crime scene Will is fidgety and surly, clearly unhappy and upset by some unknown force.  It satisfies something deep within Hannibal’s core, curbing a small pang of hunger from coming to fruition.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The crime scene is definitely an interesting one.  At least ten bodies have been found submerged in the pond, apparently weighed down with something heavy tied around their feet.  What is interesting is the suspension of their arms breaking the surface of the water, tied with clear string to the branches of a nearby tree.  Their hands reaching above the water, reaching for something to hold onto.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jack immediately clears the scene and leaves Will to do his thing.  Hannibal remains, patiently, watching.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He isn’t quite sure how much time has passed, it could be minutes or hours, as he watches Will submerge himself in the mind of this killer, watches his hungry mind devour the personality presented to him, studying, adapting.  Hannibal wishes he could reach out and pluck those thoughts out of Will’s mind so that he may savour them.  Swallow them.  Feel what Will feels.  See what Will sees.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, Will comes back to himself.  Mostly composed, somewhat out of it.  He can hear the trained mutter of “My name is Will Graham… It is 12:15pm… I’m in King County, Washington.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moves forward then, placing his hand lightly to Will’s nape and tugs lightly at the curls resting against his hand.  He is the only anchor that matters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Quite tragic, to be drowned.  This reminds me of Brahms’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ophelia-Lieder</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Hannibal says quietly, assessing the scene. “A brilliant composition of five songs based on Ophelia’s poetry, used in a stage-production in 1873.  Does this killer consider these women as Ophelias, destined to drown amongst the lilies?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no,” he hears Will mutter.  “These women are no Opheliacs.  The killer doesn’t view these women as tragic.  He never manipulated them, never felt betrayed or hurt by them.  He certainly doesn’t mourn them.  He is no Hamlet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He views them like…. Like these water lilies.  There’s too much.  They’re harmful, degrading to the scenery.  Harmful to the ecosystem.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This killer is a rampant traditionalist.  Misogynistic.  He will insist that women fit into a certain box.  They shouldn’t be overflowing with personality or passions beyond that of their home- their ecosystem- and he thinks they’re infecting the other women in this area.  All these women were probably strong-willed and outspoken.  Probably involved in local protests and activism.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal feels his lips curl upwards, pleased.  Will is so smart, so observant.  It always gives Hannibal a rush of pride to watch him work, using that beautiful mind of his.  He has such a beautiful gift.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They watch as the extract team fishes out bodies and carefully lower them on gurneys.  A few people gag and Jack yells at them to take their vomit away from the crime scene.  Zeller and Price are already going making observations and notes, poking and prodding the bodies gently.  Beverly watches with a twist to her mouth, vaguely disgusted but otherwise professional.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Some of the corpses are bloated with gas, skin bruised a nasty array of blues and purples.  Others have skin sloughing off with bone poking through.  There are corpses developing </span>
  <span>a</span>
  <a href="https://books.google.com/books?id=qxO3Z0um6WMC&amp;lpg=PA12&amp;dq=discoloration%20body%20decomposition%20under%20water&amp;pg=PA13#v=onepage&amp;q=discoloration%20body%20decomposition%20under%20water&amp;f=false">
    <span>dipocere</span>
  </a>
  <span>, a waxy gray buildup on their bodies.  Even from a moderate distance Hannibal can’t help but smell the decay and rot of the bodies.  He covers his nose with his handkerchief, lightly clearing his throat, and glances at Will out of the corner of his eye.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will glances at him and snorts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What?  Is the smell repugnant to your sensibilities, Doctor?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal merely lifts an eyebrow at him.  Obviously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will huffs a laugh, some of his earlier sourness abating.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The rest of the day passes in much the same vein.  They discuss theories and suspects with the local police force and take over their offices.  Hannibal deigns not to visit the morgue where the bodies rest- the smell of bloated corpses is not exactly something he wants to be around for a prolonged amount of time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the rest of the team goes to poke and prod at each other in the morgue, Hannibal sets off to find ingredients for dinner.  He will not put anything in his body that he, himself, has not cooked and he sees this as an opportunity to feed Will with little protest from the other man.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the dingy little hotel room they have been so graciously provided for the night he goes to work deep scrubbing the small kitchenette, stripping the two beds and replacing the sheets with his own, and taking a rather disappointing shower with a leaky showerhead and poor water pressure.  Nevertheless, it does the job and he can feel the sticky smell of the outside world melt off and away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He decides on insisting on a shower when Will comes back to the room, much rather having him smell like Hannibal’s soap than wet rotting skin.  Then they will have dinner and retire for an early evening rest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will returns and everything goes to plan.  The evening is passed pleasantly and warmly and Hannibal is content.  He bids Will a goodnight, head tilted to view the other man laying stiffly on his own dingy hotel bed.  He has infused Will’s bedding with scents of lavender and he sees when Will’s parasympathetic system starts to work as the man drifts off into sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal closes his eyes, hand reaching out to his side, fingers slightly curled but open.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal is abruptly woken up by a hard tug to his shoulder.  He is immediately tense, ready to turn over and spring into action if need be.  It takes a moment for his hazy mind to take in the stale hotel room surrounding him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hannibal,” he hears a whisper.  “Hannibal, wake up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He feels himself relax.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reluctantly, he pulls himself into a sitting position.  He sees Will staring at him, twitching and nervous.  Hannibal could imagine the twitch of his fingers, the soft shuffle of his feet, if the man was standing and not otherwise crouched by the bed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches forward, unaware if this is reality or a dream, ready to pull Will into bed and back into sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hannibal, I need a favor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal pauses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you awake, Will?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>An irritated hiss, “Yes.  Now get up. ….Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, since you asked so kindly,” Hannibal lightly snips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaves the warmth of his bed and allows Will to drag him into the bathroom.  He is confused but more than willing to see where this goes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The tub is filled with water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears Will take a deep breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Drown me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal hears the click of his vertebrae in his neck as he whips his head to stare at the man next to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now, Will---”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not like… actually drown me.  There’s something about this killer I’m having trouble grasping,” he watches the other man make an aborted movement as though he were about to begin pacing the room, “and I know the only thing that’s going to tell me what I need to know is in that water.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal hesitates.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t think this is a good idea, Will.  Let me make you some tea.  Get you back to bed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reaches forward to pull Will from the bathroom, away from the temptation of his offer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will steps back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.  I need you to do this.  Hannibal, I trust you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silent </span>
  <em>
    <span>I only trust you </span>
  </em>
  <span>rattles around Hannibal’s greedy mind.  He wants to give in, give Will whatever he wants, but he is afraid he won’t be able to pull him back out of the water.  The offer is like a delicious dessert presented to him and being told he isn’t allowed to partake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A beat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Very well,” Hannibal says hesitantly.  “I will keep you safe, Will.  We will think of this as a trust exercise.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We seem to do a lot of those,” Will snaps, quietly.  He’s nervous.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal doesn’t respond.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will kneels on the floor and braces his hands against the rim of the tub.  He nods, head tilted down at the water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal puts a well-practiced hand on the back of his neck.  He strokes lightly and takes a moment.  Will’s shoulders slump downward, pliant and accepting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he plunges forward, violent and swift.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At first Will is still, allows Hannibal to hold him under the water.  A second passes.  Two.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will begins to struggle.  His unconscious mind is now panicking, thinking he is drowning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal does not let him up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He isn’t sure he can.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He doesn’t want to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand tightens on Will’s neck and he raises his other hand to rest between Will’s shoulder blades.  He lets his hand slide over the man’s back, over his nightshirt, until he finds that quickened heartbeat.  The thumb on Will’s neck is pressed firmly against the man’s pulse point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’s never felt closer, warmer, more connected to Will than in this moment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will is releasing bubbles of air into the water now, thrashing violently.  His hands and arms now in the water and he’s trying to push up and out against Hannibal’s steady grip.  It feels like a weak protest.  Hannibal imagines what his screams must taste like, bubbling up from under the water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal adjusts his grip and pulls Will out of the water.  The other man is gasping for air, choking, and Hannibal can’t tear his eyes away from the bob of Will’s throat.  His eyes have rolled back in his head.  The man’s eyes are watering and he’s clearly overwhelmed- feeling too much and too little all at once.  He’s far from wherever Hannibal can go.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal wishes he could follow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He slaps Hannibal’s hands away from where he is grasping his wet hair tight within his grip almost instantly.  Their connection is broken.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Coughing, Will gasps out, “Fuck.  Fuck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you okay?,” Hannibal intones, fascinated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck, Hannibal,” he coughs up some water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where are you right now?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will turns on him with a snarl, angry and panicked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who the fuck is okay with “fake drowning” their patient?  Hannibal, what the fuck?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you my patient, Will?  I thought we were only having conversations.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what you fucking focus on?! Hannibal, you were drowning me!  Explain!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes are wild, scattered.  He barely looks human.  Beautiful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You asked me for this, Will, remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck what I asked, Hannibal,” Will shouts.  “I struggled!  I fucking tried to get out of your grip!  I was drowning!  Why were you okay with that?  Willing to do that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Were you?  It seemed like weak protests to me.  Acting like you were struggling when you weren’t truly afraid, following the direction in your mind insisting people should panic in struggle in situations like these.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal sits back on the wet floor, uncaring that his pajama pants are now soaked through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will seems a little calmer, still angry but not so panicked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were fucking drowning me,” Will snaps, like an angry dog.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You asked me to.  You said you needed to understand this situation, the killer and his victims on a deeper level.  I was just doing what you asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will, have some trust.  You came to me for this,” Hannibal responds, unsure of where to take this conversation.  The feel of Will’s life in his hands, his lungs gasping for air, sent a sharp tingle down his spine.  Intimate.  Loving.  He wants to shove Will’s head back under the water, deep, to force that connection again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands tingle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, no.  This was all wrong.  It felt… wrong.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will, I’m a professional.  You know that.  I would never allow harm to come to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a lie… Isn’t it?,” Will asks.  He slowly drags his eyes up to meet Hannibals.  “You wanted me to die.  To feel me die at your hands.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal steps forward, wants to be closer, wants to calm and coddle.  Wants to shove Will back under the water.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will scrambles away.  His eyes are wide and Hannibal can see the whites of his sclera, his water line tinged red and puffy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No.  Fuck.  Get away from me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal pauses.  Moves back forward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will, please.  I need you to focus,” he reaches forward.  “Focus on me.  On the feel of my hands.  Breathe.  Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moves slowly, cupping Will’s face and tilts him forward.  He forces their gazes to meet.  He only allows Will to see his affection and worry, carefully tucking away the possessive lonely monster under his skin, and Will relaxes under his touch involuntarily.  He’s shaking violently, spasming under Hannibal’s hands, but it’s slowly subsiding.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.  Believe me.  Please.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sees the acceptance in Will’s eyes, the panic subsiding in spikes.  Will is left exhausted and weary, limbs heavy and immobile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal picks him up with relish.  A rare opportunity presented to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He helps Will change out of his wet t-shirt and tucks him into Hannibal’s bed.  He allows Hannibal to press up close behind him, wrapping him in a possessive embrace and a leg shoved in-between Will’s own.  He buries his nose in the wet strands of Will’s hair.  They are completely conjoined.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He can feel a sharp spike of panic take back over Will, his scent changing back into the sour tang of fear.  He is pressed against the man who was just drowning him in the tub, his friend and psychiatrist.  The man who knows him better than anyone else alive.  This is more intimate than they’ve ever been before.  It terrifies Will.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His fear tastes like a magnificent feast but it isn’t what Hannibal wants right now.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sleep, Will.  You’re safe.  Let me comfort you.  Let this all feel like a bad dream.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will eventually stops struggling, letting Hannibal lightly pet him down his arms and through his hair.  His exhaustion soon takes over and he loses consciousness lulled to sleep by soft foreign words pressed into his ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal sleeps better than he has in a long time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The next morning he pretends to sleep as Will tries to extract himself from the intricate pretzel they’ve become overnight.  He stays heavy and loose and he feels Will huff against his chest.  He does not want to be caught cuddling with Hannibal after the intimate situation of last night.  He is embarrassed, possibly hoping he can sneak over to his own bed and they would both pretend they didn’t spend the night curled around each other.  Hannibal imagines Will still feels upset, conflicted, unsure of how to view Hannibal- Is Hannibal a threat to him or his protection?  His anchor or the line casting him out to sea?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Will.  I would appreciate it if you stopped moving around so much.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He hears Will let out a groan, thumping his head forward against Hannibal’s bare chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did last night really happen?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It did.  Did it help you think at all?  Possibly help clear your head?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will pauses and then is suddenly a flurry of movement, extracting himself from Hannibal’s grip with a sudden burst of energy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s what it is.  He thinks he’s helping these women clear their minds!  He thinks the water will purify them, make them pure and feminine again!</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He’s large and stocky but getting older.  Married.  His wife is pulling away, possibly having an affair.  The thought of it is driving him insane so he’s drowning his emotions in these women, imagining they’re his unfaithful wife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Which of those interviewees was a middle-aged man…” Will trails off, muttering to himself as he gathers up papers and his phone to ring Jack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal isn’t doing much more than staring at Will, irritated though keeping his face neutral.  The closeness of the morning shattered, the warmth and heat between their bodies extinguished.  Will couldn’t have waited until after breakfast to have his epiphany. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At least this distraction doesn’t allow Will to start thinking too hard, too long, about waking up in Hannibal’s arms.  Hannibal doesn’t think he can take it if Will starts to act strange and distant over some friendly cuddling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Jack!  I know who it is-- You what?  A phone call?---”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal waits patiently as Will wraps up his call and watches as the man moves to get dressed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Apparently the man’s wife called the police last night.  His name is Oswald Campbell, an older man.  He’s a landscaper in the area.  He tried to drown her last night and she knocked him out with her hair dryer.  He’s in holding and processing as we speak.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Case closed?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will shifts to look at him, sitting down heavily on the bed as he tugs his shoes on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Case closed.  Let’s get out of here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal merely rolls over and shoves his face into Will’s vacated pillow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hannibal, c’mon.  I know you wanna get home.  Get up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal huffs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A later booked flight after a few more hours of rest does not sound unattractive at the moment.  We have until noon to check out.  Someone…. Woke me up in the middle of the night for a trust exercise, if I do recall.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Will shifts on the bed, uncomfortable.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I… I’m sorry.  For last night.  I can’t believe I accused you of trying to actually drown me,” a sardonic chuckle, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal remains silent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll go help wrap things up with booking the guy in.  You get some rest.  I’ll call you in a bit with the flight information.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hannibal’s hands curl into the pillow as he hears the door softly shut with a click.</span>
</p>
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